Abba, Part 4: Your Spotter

 

Hey, Cobblestone,

     Who’s your spotter? Oh… been a minute since you did any gymnastics, has it? Perhaps we should review the role of the spotter.

     The spotter gives targeted support as you transition from one skill level to the next. The spotter gives encouragement, and coaches on form and technique. The spotter urges you to do what you’re pretty sure you can’t. The spotter doesn’t catch you – but when you’ve missed your grip and come tumbling toward earth, the spotter makes the fall survivable. Probably offers pointers on how to keep it from happening again.  

     One of my favorite child-raising rules goes like so: Most times, kids don’t need to be told No; they just need a good spotter. It’s not an original notion on my part. From sheer observation, it sure looks as if our Father in heaven raises his kids according to the same paradigm. One of his children has written:

    Nevertheless, I am continually with you;
        you hold my right hand.
    You guide me with your counsel,
        and afterward you will receive me to glory.
    Whom have I in heaven but you?
        And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you.
    My flesh and my heart may fail,
        but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever (Psalm 73:23-26).

     The psalm-writer, in this case Asaph, expresses supreme confidence in his Spotter. He’s picking up counsel now, even as his heart is set on afterward. He doesn’t expect to never fail, and yet his forever is secure. This, right here, is the only workable pattern in this walk-around world. The Father makes a way; we walk in it; we are with him now, whatever-the-heck now looks like, and will be with him forever. There’s no other valid offer being made. Nothing else is necessary.

     My youngest grandchild made her first trip up and down the stairs in my house this week – bottom floor to second floor and back again. Big deal, huh? She’s sixteen months old. Too soon? Apparently not. Those stairs have been calling her name since she first started crawling. Up until about 8pm Tuesday, the answer had been No(!), which had been wise. But then came 8:01pm. Go Time. It took the better part of an hour, but she experimented with different tactics and polished her technique. She whimpered (just a little) when fearful, but figured it out anyway. All the while, she had a spotter. The one truly scary part (from an adult perspective) was on the second-to-last step coming down, when a squirrel bounded through the dining room, and I looked away for a split-second. Naturally, this was the same split-second she tried a totally new and unworkable tactic. But the next split-second was sufficient for a restraining hand to intervene. And you guessed it: there was no squirrel.

     What father wouldn’t want his children to take risks for the purpose of learning new skills? That would be a faithless dad. What father wouldn’t think his children would pick up a few cuts and bruises along the way? That’s a delusional dad. But our Father in heaven is neither faithless nor delusional. His faithfulness continues through all generations and he sees his children clearly. Best of all, he holds afterward and forever firmly in hand.

     There’s a set of stairs calling your name, right now. Don’t give me that sideways look. You know what I’m talking about. We could argue, but it wouldn’t make the stairs go away, or release you from the compulsion to climb them. Talk to your Father. The one scary half-moment on the stairs with my granddaughter served to illustrate: As close as Papaw was, Abba is closer.

 Grace and Peace (from God our Spotter and the Lord Jesus Christ),

 

John